


Grieving

by Lady Divine Coldflash (fhartz91)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:52:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6184963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/Lady%20Divine%20Coldflash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry comes back to his apartment to find that Len has returned from...wherever he was. Barry's ecstatic to see him safe and sound, but Len's shut himself off from Barry emotionally, and Barry doesn't know why.</p><p>(This was sort of inspired by the last episode of LoT "Marooned", and the question of how Len might deal with grief.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Was My Friend

Barry walks into his bedroom, showered, teeth brushed, dressed in his S.T.A.R. Labs sweats, ready to crawl into bed and pass out for about a week, and finds Len right where he left him - lying on the bed, eyes closed, earbuds in his ears, not asleep that Barry can tell, just ignoring the world at large, including him.

Barry hadn’t been expecting him, but he came home in the late afternoon and there Len was, sans parka but with his thick boots still on, lying on Barry’s side of the bed, listening to Barry’s iPod. Len didn’t open his eyes when Barry entered the room. He didn’t say hello, didn’t get up to greet him. Something had to have gone wrong while he was incommunicado for the past few weeks, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to tell Barry _what_ any time soon.

Barry’s willing to give Len his space, not that keeping his distance is a new thing, but since Len won’t talk about what happened, Barry doesn’t know _why_. All Barry _does_ know is that when he saw Len, he was overjoyed that he was back safe and sound, but Len was cold. He didn’t seem to care.

So Barry went about his evening routine alone, the way he had every night since Len left.

He made dinner, but this time he fixed it for two, putting together a plate for Len at the table even though Barry knew he wouldn’t come out to eat. With no one to talk to while he ate, Barry went over case files, filled out paperwork, returned emails, all in silence, but Barry found himself consistently distracted thinking about the other person in his apartment, who refused to move or say a word.

When Barry could no longer concentrate on anything enough for it to make sense, he cut his dinner short and climbed in the shower. He took an extra-long one, hoping that might entice Len to get up and join him. Barry stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, but Len didn’t make an appearance.

So when Barry walks into his bedroom, he’s not surprised to find Len in the exact same spot, doing the exact same thing, which is basically nothing.

Barry debates the pros and cons of trying to get Len to talk as opposed to just climbing in to bed on Len’s side and going to sleep. The pro is that leaving Len be definitely makes Barry the non-clingy, cool-beans, understanding lover that lets Len work through his issues alone like the big boy he is.

The con – Len might be gone before Barry wakes up, without even giving Barry a chance to say goodbye, before he’s off doing God knows what in God knows where, without leaving Barry so much as an ETA on his return.

Barry decides he can’t handle that. He misses Len too much when he’s gone.

And what if the next time he leaves he doesn’t come back?

Barry shakes Len’s shoulder to get his attention, but when Len doesn’t open an eye to look at him, Barry pops an earbud out of his ear.

“What?” Len says brusquely, feeling for the wire to find the mislaid bud.

“You’re on my side of the bed.”

“Do you think I care?”

“No,” Barry says, in no mood to argue, “I don’t think you do. But you care about something, which is why you’re acting this way. So, do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to remain catatonic?”

“I choose to think of it as meditation,” Len says, locating the missing earbud and sticking it back in his ear, eyes closed, slipping back into his self-imposed coma.

Barry watches him retreat back inside his head and gives up. He’s too tired to drag the truth tooth and nail out of him, not after the day he’s had.

“Fine,” Barry says, retiring to the other side of the bed.

Len finally opens an eye when he feels Barry shove back the covers and climb onto the bed.

“Wait,” Len says, yanking the earbuds out of his ears and grabbing hold of Barry’s sweatshirt.

“Yeah?” Barry says.

“Yeah. Come here.” Len pulls Barry toward him. Barry lets Len manipulate him. He guides Barry over and down until Barry’s laying over him. Len slips his hands underneath Barry’s sweatshirt, wrapping his arms around his bare torso. Len’s hands are cold, but they’re always cold. Len fits the two of them together, then rolls slightly to the side and hugs Barry tight. He buries his head in Barry’s chest, his forehead pressing hard into Barry’s collarbone, but Barry doesn’t complain. He doesn’t shift to get away when Len digs his balled fists into his back, or when suffocating his sobs results in Len driving his teeth into the skin over Barry’s heart.

“It gets better,” Barry says softly.

“No, it doesn’t,” Len replies.

Barry sighs. If Len were anyone else, Barry would insist. But he can’t bullshit Len.

“You’re right. It doesn’t,” Barry says. He can’t really argue that. How long had it been since his mother died, and he hadn’t gotten over it. And not just on behalf of his dad, wrongfully accused of her murder and wasting years in prison. But as Len continues to crush against him, Barry’s about to commit a terrible sin. He’s not going to lie. Len would understand Barry lying. Barry’s going to be platitudinous, and that borders on the grotesque. “It’ll fade,” he says. “I promise.”

“Yeah,” Len scoffs. “Sure it will.”

Len’s insulted by Barry’s trite and unoriginal answer, but he doesn’t hold it against him. Len doesn’t make things easy for Barry. After everything Len’s done, in general as well as to Barry specifically, Barry still sees the good in him. He’s Len’s safe house. He’s even given Len a copy of the key. Len considers himself lucky that Barry doesn’t just get pissed and kick him out.

But Barry wouldn’t be Barry if he did.

And Len wouldn’t love him.

Len doesn’t say another word, and he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let go until morning.

 


	2. He Was My Lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry's having an off day, and nothing he does can make it right. Little things pop up that contribute to the overall suck-iness, but underneath it all is this feeling he gets that something's gone terribly wrong, he just hasn't heard about it yet. When he comes home and finds an unexpected visitor waiting for him, his fears are confirmed.
> 
> Features Mick Rory and Lisa Snart.
> 
> Okay, so this is just a different form of grieving, and it fit with the characterization from the first chapter, so I stuck it here. It's inspired by Legends of Tomorrow episode 1x15 'Destiny'. It has nothing to do with the episode coming up. It's just a stand alone piece of angst that I wrote to help me deal.

It’s been one of those days.

It started out lousy, from the moment Barry’s alarm failed to go off (because he somehow accidentally switched it from A.M. to P.M., even though he swears he didn’t touch it), and continued getting worse from there, throwing him off his game from his first step out of bed. Nothing he did fixed it. It wasn’t anything major. He didn’t get into any accidents or arguments, he didn’t blow anything up. It sucked in a plethora of tiny ways that kept cropping up unexpectedly to remind him that today wasn’t going to be a good day, no matter how hard he tried to change that.

He tripped and spilled his coffee on his shirt and pants, which, considering the pervasiveness of the Speed Force, should have never happened. He couldn’t find a non-broken pencil or a working pen whenever he needed one, and the battery on his iPad kept draining down to nothing immediately after coming off the charger. The sandwich he bought from the deli he went to for lunch (where he’s a regular, with his own sandwich on the menu) dripped pickle relish – the one condiment he absolutely hates. A quick jog to Jitters to drop off something for Iris while wearing untreated shoes set a brand new pair of Converse on fire.

At some point during the afternoon, a sharp ache cut through Barry’s chest, probably acid reflux from the damn pickle relish, but it felt like an explosion. His heart sped up, his head throbbed, his stomach burned. It surged through him with such force that it made him want to scream. He felt like he was being torn to pieces, fiery hooks latching in to his skin and yanking in all directions. It was so severe, it brought him to his knees, curling him at the stomach, arms clutching hard to keep himself together. Regardless of how agonizing the experience, it lasted only seconds, but the aftershocks lingered, and by the end of the day, he felt achy and ill. He wanted to get home and go to bed, crawl under the covers and hide from the world.

It left him with a feeling of dread, like something horrible had happened, he just hadn’t heard about it yet.

And that automatically made Barry think of Len.

Barry hasn’t heard from his boyfriend for a while now. Every night, when Barry comes home, he expects to see him – hogging the bed, spread out like a starfish, listening to Barry’s iPod, or raiding the cabinets, since it seems that all snacks in the future are sugar-free, forcing Len to subsist mostly off of an antique hoard of breakfast cereal to get his sugar fix.

Barry reaches for the lock to his apartment, key in hand, hoping, as he always does, that tonight will be the night. He brushes his hand against the wood door, and his fingers start to tingle. He feels a presence waiting for him inside. He smiles. He knows that, with his luck being what it’s been all day, it’s more than likely a thief or a violent criminal. Since Len can reasonably be described as both those things anyway, Barry decides to take his chances, and rushes to unlock the door.

It’s him. It has to be him. And it’s about frickin’ time.

It takes Barry three tries to throw the sticky lock, and on the fourth try, he nearly busts the door off the hinges. Barry tosses his coat and his bag on the sofa, and sprints straight for the bedroom. If Len’s back, he’ll be waiting in there, probably double-handedly eating Barry’s leftover fried chicken and a carton of cookies and cream ice-cream.

And, if there’s a God, he’ll be naked.

Barry has a hand on the top two buttons of his shirt, working them open, imagining Len’s mouth on his, tasting greasy and sweet, his lips and tongue cold to the touch. Barry pushes impatiently past the bedroom door and sees him.

 _Them_ , actually.

Lisa Snart, curled up in a chair, legs tucked under her, her head buried in her folded arms, and Mick Rory, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

The imposing man stands when Barry enters the room, and Barry bristles, nerves on alert.

So Barry was right after all. A thief _and_ a violent criminal.

“Hel…lo?” Barry says when he sees them, not sure what else he should say. _Get out!_ would be the first thing to hop to mind if Barry had discovered Mick there alone, but the addition of Lisa makes this unexpected visit unsettling. She hasn’t been to Barry’s apartment yet, as far as he knows. Len made Barry’s place his safe house from the world, and that included his sister and his partner. How Mick knows where he lives, Barry has no idea, since Len swore he’d never tell. “Is Len lending out my key now or something?”

Lisa sniffles, and Mick puts a hand on her shoulder.

“No,” Mick says softly. “Snart didn’t give us your key. Uh…”

Barry squares his shoulders defensively at the thought that Len doesn’t know that they’re there. Barry doesn’t mind Lisa, but he never truly felt comfortable around Mick. There was always something about him that bothered Barry, like the man could turn at any time, become a loose cannon, and nothing in the world would be able to contain him. But here he is, sullen, soft spoken, almost respectful in his demeanor (if Barry overlooks the fact that he broke in to his apartment).

Still on his guard, Barry switches his attention for the moment to look closely at Lisa. Despite how miserable she seems, Barry can’t help chuckling when he notices what she’s wearing.

“Did you snag one of Cisco’s sweatshirts?” Barry asks, hoping that the mention of Cisco Ramon might cheer her up a bit. “You know, your brother does that, too. Steals my S.T.A.R. Labs sweats. I think he has more of them by now than I do.”

Unintentionally, that little joke causes Lisa to curl up tighter, cry harder.

That sharp, pulsating ache in Barry’s chest returns, and he knows. He knows, but he needs to hear it. Or maybe he doesn’t want to hear it. Maybe he should change the subject, or just throw them out, but then he’d never know for sure. He wouldn’t go looking for himself. He wouldn’t task Gideon to examine the timeline, wouldn’t ask Cisco or Caitlin to investigate. He’d simply erase this encounter from his head, keep going on as if it had never happened.

And he’d spend every day till his last waiting for Len to return home to him.

“What’s going on? W-why are you guys even here?”

Barry stares expectantly at the two somber people in front of him, both of them not moving, not speaking, except that Lisa has surrendered to full blown tears. The ache in Barry’s chest grows stronger, and he wants to revert to his original plan - go straight to bed, climb under the covers, and hide.

“Where’s…where’s Len?” Barry asks, gaze shifting repeatedly from Lisa to Mick. Neither of them look at him – Lisa curled up so tight that Barry can’t see her face anymore, and Mick…his eyes have started to wind a path down to his left hand, to something he’s holding. Something Barry has seen before. He knows the story behind it – what it means to Len and Mick’s friendship. Len would put it on when he was feeling sentimental, fidget with it for comfort. He wore it almost non-stop after he marooned Mick, and then again when Mick became Chronos. But even when Len didn’t wear it, it was never out of his possession.

Barry sees it, and the ache goes from awful to catastrophic, lethal like a razor and slicing his heart to shreds.

“No,” Barry says, taking a step back. The room suddenly feels too cramped with the three of them in it. Barry needs to go. He needs to run. He needs to find out where Len is and go there, no matter how far away it is, when in time it is. He needs to know why Len doesn’t have his pinkie ring, and he needs to hear it from the source. “What happened? What…what did he do? Where is he?”

“You know, I never really understood the relationship the two of you guys had,” Mick says. “I didn’t get how he could fall for you, you being a superhero and all, and us being on the wrong side of the law. But being on the Waverider, I think I finally know. It’s because like minds think the same. You’re a superhero, but he’s…” Mick clears his throat, but it doesn’t seem to help. “He was a hero, too.”

Barry catches the change in tense. His body shakes, vibrating so hard he might pass out of existence entirely. “No,” he mutters, the sound coming from a place of heartbreak embedded so deep, Barry didn’t even remember it existed, not since he was a kid. “No, he’s not…he didn’t… _you’re lying_!”

“I’m not lying, kid,” Mick says, working to keep his temper in check, his own overwhelming grief hidden.

“Of course you are!” Barry yells. Lisa sobs louder when Barry raises his voice. Barry doesn’t know if it’s because of his volume, or because of what he’s saying, but as much as his heart goes out to her, he can’t stop. He’s furious at Mick, that he could let this happen. Barry storms up to him and stares right in his eyes, the lightning flashing behind his irises reflecting in Mick’s empty stare. “You betrayed him! He told me all about it. How you turned on him and the team. And now…now you’re…you’re trying to…” Barry can’t nail down exactly what he wants to say, and that infuriates him more. “ _Why are you doing this_?”

“Barry?” Lisa mutters from behind the bulky sleeve of her pilfered sweatshirt. “Please, listen, Barry.” Her voice begins to shake. “P-please…help.”

Barry doesn’t know that he would ever lift a finger to help Mick. Mick is Len’s partner, but he isn’t _like_ Len. Of course, Barry doesn’t know Mick too well. He knows _about_ Mick, and mostly from stories Len told him, which he did with a fond chuckle and a shake of his head no matter how terrifying they sounded, most of them ending in something being set on fire. But Barry doesn’t get the same vibe from Mick that he gets from Len. He doesn’t think that the same _good_ he feels in Len exists in Mick. Mick seems to have little conscience, and only two real loyalties.

His first loyalty is to himself.

But since the second is to Len, Barry has entertained the idea that he could be wrong.

Without Len to intervene, to tell Barry that Mick can be trusted, Barry is on the fence over what to do.

Lisa whimpers, a new flood of tears flowing down her cheeks, and Barry sighs. This is as much for Lisa as it is for Mick. For Lisa, Barry would do what he could.

And for Len. He’d do anything for Len.

“What do I have to do?” Barry asks, fighting to stay strong, to not let whatever happened destroy him.

“You travel through time, right?” Mick asks. “I mean, you just do it. You don’t need no map, no ship. You just…run…and you can get there?”

Barry nods. That’s an oversimplification, but whatever Mick is thinking, Barry can find a way to make it work.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. I can.”

Mick nods. He grabs Barry’s wrist. Barry resists, but Mick succeeds in raising his hand. He presses Len’s silver pinkie ring into Barry’s palm and closes Barry’s fingers around it, squeezing it tight, like a hand shake.

Like an agreement.

“Then I need to ask you for a favor,” Mick says, staring at Barry with determination in his eyes, “and I have a feeling you already know what it is.”


	3. He Was My Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry brings Lisa and Mick back to S.T.A.R. Labs to get working on their plan to save Len, and for that, he asks Cisco for help. Cisco watches Lisa slowly deteriorate, and he goes over to see if there's anything he can do. They end up having a heart-to-heart, from a brother to a sister...except Lisa's not exactly sure if she can call herself a 'sister' anymore.
> 
> (Okay, so, I had started writing this pretty much after the last one. It was based on a lot of personal experiences, but it got stalled for that reason. But yesterday I saw this http://lady-divine-writes.tumblr.com/post/145469554567/ohthevillains-if-you-have-a-sibling-and-they and it kind of helped kickstart it along.)

Cisco doesn’t understand _why_ Barry has come back to S.T.A.R. Labs…at two in the morning…accompanied by two criminals. All he knows is that seconds after Barry left for the day, he called Cisco and made sure he hadn’t gone home yet. Barry sounded rushed, was vague on the details, but said he had something important he needed to do, and he needed Cisco’s help. That’s all Barry needed to say. It doesn’t matter that Cisco’s eyes are blistering from exhaustion, or that he has a knot in his neck the size of Mount St. Helens. Cisco has Barry’s back, no matter what.

Barry had once said that the universe itself wanted them to be bros. Cisco believes that, too, wholeheartedly.

But when Barry returns, he isn’t alone. Lisa Snart (wearing one of Cisco’s own S.T.A.R. Lab sweatshirts) and Mick Rory are with him. Cisco has to admit that he’s shocked, and pleasantly surprised, to see Lisa, but she doesn’t seem like her usual flirty self. She looks like she did that night when they had to remove the explosive her dad had implanted in her neck. Utterly heart broken.

No, actually, Cisco realizes as she trudges to Caitlin’s chair, sits down, and stares off into space, she looks worse than that.

She looks destroyed.

Barry hits the ground running, so to speak, the second he walks in, and from conversation he catches back and forth, he overhears that Leonard Snart had died in the future, and Barry (who had been dating Len in secret, to _everyone’s_ surprise) is going to try and find a way to save him.

Cisco attempts to focus on the plan that Barry has laid out. They’re doing it behind the backs of Dr. Wells and Caitlin, not to mention Joe and Iris, and part of that doesn’t sit well with Cisco. But that’s not what’s pulling his focus from making adjustments to the tachyon device. It’s Lisa. Her sudden lack of emotion, the absence of her constant quips, her comic-book villain attitude…so much like her brother. She’s completely silent, motionless. Cisco has had to stare at her twice to make sure she was still breathing. Her being there, but _not_ being there, has created a sizable void in the room, and like it or not, Cisco can’t not go over and see if she’s okay.

He leaves when Barry and Mick become embroiled over a decision about execution. Mick wants to go with Barry. Barry feels it would be unsafe for both of them, the possibility of losing Mick along the way, somewhere in the timeline, even with Cisco vibing him through, and the even greater possibility of creating two Micks. Cisco sneaks away, letting them iron out those details, and takes a seat in his own chair beside Lisa.

She doesn’t look at him, doesn’t acknowledge his existence, but not like she’s ignoring him. It’s almost as if she, herself, is trying not to exist. Not to breathe. Not to blink, or think, or move, or do anything else that would make what’s happened to her real. In this statuesque state, she seems held together by a single pin, on the verge of exploding. Her hands, clasped together in her lap, are the perfect example of this – knuckles pulled tight, skin white with strain, and her blood red nails, usually sharpened to points, chewed to the quick, buried into the back of her hands, leaving jagged indents.

“Hey,” Cisco says, not letting on how unnerved this version of Lisa makes him.

She doesn’t answer, but she swallows hard. She doesn’t look at him, but she takes a breath. She doesn’t turn, but she minutely inclines her head, as if she heard Cisco calling out to her from a distance.

“I just…came by to see how you’re holding up.”

For some reason, that comment dislodges her, and even though she doesn’t change her overall posture, her shoulders tremble.

“You have a brother, right?” Lisa asks. Cisco, trying to remain compassionate, can’t help shooting her a look. She doesn’t see, but she nods as if remembering. It was _her_ brother who had kidnapped and tortured Dante Ramon. That’s something that Cisco would think she would remember. It’s how she got her precious Gold Gun, after all. “Right,” she answers for him. “Well, what if Len had killed him?”

That question seems cruel, unusually so for Lisa. It sounds unnecessarily threatening when, even though she had a tendency to be a real bitch sometimes, she was never conscienceless.

“Do you really think we should be talking about this now?” Cisco asks, his voice thick with latent anger that he doesn’t want to unleash on Lisa, not while she’s obviously mourning.

“If Len had killed him, would you still say you have a brother?” This time her voice cracks, that pin holding her together slipping out further.

“What…what do you mean?” Cisco asks, his anger melting into confusion.

“I mean, how do you answer that question?” Her lower lip wobbles, and she clamps her back teeth together to stop it. “I mean, he’ll always be your brother, right? No matter what? I know you guys had some issues, but before you made nice, when people asked if you had a brother, you still said _yes_ , right?”

“Of course.” To Cisco it’s a no-thinker, a throw-away answer to keep the conversation moving, but it seems to cause Lisa pain, her face crumbling, her body shuddering.

“So, okay…what do I say now, Cisco? D-do I still have a brother, even if he’s gone? If someone comes up and asks me if I have a brother, do I…do I say yes? Is that the correct answer?”

She pauses, waiting for a response, and Cisco’s heart splits in two.

He doesn’t have one to give her.

“Lisa…”

“Because, he…he wasn’t just my jerk brother, Cisco,” she continues, trying to explain, as if that would influence his reply. “He was another half of who I was. He…he raised me. He took care of me. He protected me. I can’t even count the amount of times he saved my life. Mick told me that, even on the Waverider, Len did everything he could to keep me safe. S-so, am I not a sister anymore, now that he’s gone? Do I…do I just say I don’t have a brother? Because that’s like saying I’m missing half a heart, part of my brain, a piece of my soul. How do I do that, Cisco?” She turns to look at him and he’s astounded by what he sees – the woman who always seemed so put together, so in control, with just a hint a wild abandon to boot, has been stripped away. The frightened girl that’s left is asking Cisco, from a sister to a brother, what she’s supposed to do now. Because she doesn’t have a clue. “You’re a smart guy. You make all of this…this _stuff_. Can you please tell me _how_?” Lisa’s eyes become wide, so full of tears they nearly double in size. “Can you…can you help me, Cisco? _Please_?”

“I…” Cisco starts there, but he doesn’t know how to finish. He never thought about it that way. He hates to admit there are several times he had gotten so upset with his brother that he wished he would disappear. Cisco thought that was just something that all siblings went through. Listening to Lisa, thinking back on the times he had seen her and her brother together, hearing about the story of their lives and everything Len did - everything he sacrificed - to keep her safe, he can’t imagine her ever feeling that same way.

Cisco doesn’t know what happens to people after they die. He doesn’t really think about it. He knows the science, of course, of brain death and decomp and all the other unappetizing things, but after that… He’d always hoped there was something more, that mankind didn’t really just come to this planet to mess things up for about seventy to eighty years and then dissolve into oblivion, but not until recently did he actually let himself believe in something else. Everything he’s seen and done since the particle accelerator explosion – meeting Barry, watching him travel through time, punch through dimensional barriers and jump to separate Earths, capturing metahumans…developing powers himself – seems to point to a different outcome. For the first time since he’s been a kid can he actually see the potential for a life after death. He always thought he’d have decades to figure it out.

He hated not knowing the answer for Caitlin after Ronnie died.

And now, Lisa doesn’t have that kind of time.

All the same, she stares at him with tears in her eyes, begging him to tell her what he hasn’t yet discovered for himself.

He doesn’t know what to say.

“I think,” Cisco says, moving a bit closer, “that your brother is your brother. That he’ll _always_ be your brother, no matter what. Whether he’s here, or…or whether he’s gone, you still have him…and you always will. Nothing can take that away from you. You didn’t lose a brother, Lisa. You’ll always have him, and you’ll always be his sister.”

Lisa nods. She doesn’t look exactly exhilarated by his answer. He didn’t unleash some great vault of eternal wisdom, but there’s a degree of peace on her face that wasn’t there before. Maybe a realization that she can carry with her, something that can put her mind at ease. But if it will, it doesn’t work right away. There’s barely any warning before she leans into Cisco’s body and begins to sob. Cisco wraps an arm around her, then another, and before too long she has her arms locked around him, too, holding him tight.

“It’s okay, Lisa,” he whispers. “It’ll…it’ll be okay. I promise…it’ll be…alright…”

Cisco looks up when he notices that Lisa’s cries are the only sound in the room. The two other men, previously distracted by their plan, have gone quiet. They’re standing a short distance away – Barry, with tears on his cheeks, and Mick, eyes trained on the ground.

There is no grave for Leonard Snart. Besides his sister, his best friend, his lover, and a ring, there is nothing left of him. Nothing to put in the ground. Since the moment everyone found out about his passing, there has been virtually no pause in the action, no minute to hang their heads and simply mourn. And even though they have a plan that they’re hoping against hope will actually work, one that they’re eager to put into action, get Leonard back, and get on with their lives, this moment of stillness, with Lisa in Cisco’s arms, Barry and Mick holding their own silent vigil, is just as important as all of that.

To take a moment in the planning of rescuing a great man, and remember that he _was_ great.

 


	4. The Things that We Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry lies in bed and thinks about the last conversation he had with Len…a conversation he would take back if he could.

Barry lies on his stomach, arms crossed under his face, cheek resting against the back of his hands, staring into the emptiness on Len’s side of the bed. The pinkie ring on his finger – Len’s ring – digs into his cheek, leaving an indent. Barry leans into it to deepen the mark. A dull pain radiates from where the smooth edge buries against his cheekbone, but it doesn’t matter. It couldn’t be any more painful than the other bruises he’s carried on his body…or the ones entombed inside his heart.

One that plays over and over, like a movie stuck on loop, every time Barry gets a second alone.

_“Snart! Hey, Snart!” Barry called as he ran down the dim, empty corridor toward the man in the parka walking his way. “I saw you on the security cameras! God, I missed you!” Barry wrapped his arms around Len’s body a hugged him tight. “Why didn’t you call first? Tell me you were home? I could have met you at the Waverider.”_

_“Sorry, Bare. It just…slipped my mind, I guess.”_

_That was a bullshit answer, and Barry should have caught it. Barry was usually more observant, but he missed Len too much. He was too excited to see him again after his months away. So several things went unnoticed – the way Len shifted his gaze away from Barry’s smile; the way he immediately shoved his hands into his pockets, as if to avoid returning Barry’s hug; the way he slowed his steps and waited for the inevitable instead of speeding into Barry’s embrace._

_Those subtle signs blew right past Barry, because when Barry saw Len strolling down the corridor of S.T.A.R. Labs, ready (Barry thought) for his usual welcome home, Barry had no other thought in his head then to hold him, kiss him, and remind him how much he loved him._

_But Len’s kisses, when he gave them, felt forced, and he wasn’t hugging Barry back._

_That’s when Barry noticed something wasn’t quite right._

_“Len…” Barry looked into Len’s face, searching for an explanation for his behavior – exhaustion, hunger, time travel sickness. Maybe something horrible had happened while he was away, like last time with Mick._

_Maybe Mick didn’t make it back this time._

_But Len wasn’t rushing into an explanation, and Barry’s heart filled with dread._

_“Why…why are you acting so strange?” Barry asked, having a sneaking, sickening suspicion that this wasn’t about Mick, or anyone else on the Waverider. “Why won’t you kiss me like you’re happy to see me?”_

_“Barry…I don’t have much time in 2016, but I have to talk to you.”_

_“Wh---why? What’s going on?” Barry’s eyes widened, waiting to hear that it wasn’t the worst, but suddenly he knew. He knew, and he didn’t want it to be real. “What are you doing?”_

_“Barry…” Len sighed. “I don’t know…if we should be together anymore.”_

_“Wh—what are you saying?”_

_“I’ve been doing some thinking,” Len said, finally putting an arm around Barry’s waist when Barry shook his head and tried to back away. If Len didn’t hold him, Barry might leave, be halfway to Bulgaria in a blink, and he needed Barry to hear him out._

_It was for Barry’s own good._

_“Being on the Waverider, traveling through time and whatnot, I think…I don’t know. I’ve changed. And I’m beginning to wonder what the future holds for you and me.”_

_“Really?” Barry debated breaking out of Len’s grip anyway. Did Barry want to be this intimately close to Len when he heard this? Was it worth breaking Len’s arm to get away? “Because I thought I knew what it held.”_

_“I did, too, Bare, but now…I’m just not sure. I’ve seen things, Barry.” Barry opened his mouth to ask, but Len shook his head. “Things that I probably shouldn’t tell you. All I know is that you’re taking too big a risk staying with me.”_

_Barry nodded in bitter affirmation. “So, you’re breaking up with me, is that it? Things got a little too real for you traveling through time so you’re just going to dump me?”_

_Len looked from Barry’s heartbroken eyes to the gun holstered to his thigh. It had become a Godsend on the Waverider – this weapon he had stolen so he could move up from smash-and-grab thievery in order to become a more elegant criminal. It broadened his range, helped him aim higher. But somewhere along the way, he had become more, and that gun had helped him…but in no greater way than Barry had._

_Barry made him realize that there was more hiding underneath his surface to begin with. Len couldn’t repay him by putting his life in danger. His family’s life in danger. He’d almost lost Lisa. He couldn’t lose Barry, too._

_“No, I’m…I’m not breaking up with you,” Len lied, the hurt on Barry’s face too much for him to handle all at once._

_“Then what do you call this? Huh? Because it sure as hell doesn’t sound like the kind of conversation you have when you love someone. In fact, it sounds like exactly the thing you say when you stop loving someone.”_

_“It’s not that I don’t love you, Bare. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate you giving me a chance. I do. You believed in me when no one else did. It’s just…” Len had thought of one surefire thing he felt would make Barry give up on him. He hadn’t wanted to use it, but it seemed like he didn’t have a choice. “I’m beginning to feel that, maybe, Sara and I…you know…we make more sense together than you and me.”_

_That skewered Barry, stuck him through the heart and stole the air right out of him, but he refused to let Len see. Sara Lance. Of course, this was about Sara Lance. Whenever Len wasn’t talking about Mick, he was talking about Sara, if he ever talked about his time on the Waverider at all. Whenever he came back, he seemed to clam up about where they’d been, what they’d done, what he’d gone through. Barry naively thought it was because he wanted to put it behind him while he was with Barry, focus on the two of them. But he wasn’t. He was just counting the hours until he could go back and see her._

_How did Barry not see it? He’d been so stupid. He never doubted that Len had feelings for Sara, but he always thought it was because she was part of his team. Was he wrong? Were Len’s feelings for Sara really as strong as the feelings he had for Barry? Or was Len just doing what was convenient? Len had been an opportunist ever since Barry had known him. It was the nature of the beast. A lifetime spent being groomed to become a thief. But Barry thought Len had changed._

_Apparently he was wrong._

_“You self-serving son of a bitch.” Barry laughed ironically. “You know, I didn’t honestly believe that you could be that callous. But I guess I should have known better than to fall in love with Lewis Snart’s son.”_

Those words echo through Barry’s brain and he catches his breath. If he had known that this was the last time he’d talk to Len face-to-face, he never would have said that. But hindsight’s 20/20, retrospect is a bitch, and nothing seems to turn out the way Barry wants it to.

_“Barry…” Len said with honest to God hurt on his face, but Barry refused to see it. As far as he was concerned, it was all part of the act – one that Leonard Snart was too good at._

_“Len, don’t.”_

_“…I’m not trying to hurt you.”_

_Barry shook his head._ _No. Barry wouldn’t believe him. Len was lying. Len had to be the villain, because the other option wasn’t one that Barry was prepared to live with - that Len did have good in him, and that he did love Barry…but he had grown to love Sara more._

_Barry took a step back, putting space between them. He felt like a stranger in Len’s arms._

_“Yeah, I see that. I get it,” Barry said, his voice, his eyes, and his body cold as ice. “That’s fine. That’s completely fine. I understand. You go, do what you have to do. It was good seeing you again.”_

_Len scoffed at Barry’s sudden change in attitude. “Well, you’re taking this well.”_

_Barry couldn’t tell if Len was amused or insulted. Len could be sincere when he wanted to; cruel when it suited him. Sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference. Len was that good a con man. Barry didn’t care which Len was at the moment. What did Len expect him to do? Cry? Was that what he wanted? Would that magically make him change his mind, or did his ego need stroking that much?_

_“It’s not easy for me. I’m just…used to it by now,” Barry admitted, eyes sparking with the Speed Force. It snapped through his muscles, eager to whisk him away and take him anywhere but here._

_And that’s what it did. Self-preservation. Pride. Heartbreak. The power that protected Barry when Barry couldn’t protect himself surged through him and carried him away without him telling it to. The Speed Force was like its own separate entity, making decisions on his behalf. This one was easy. Get away before he did something he’d regret._

But it was too late, because Barry regrets all of it. That whole conversation. That whole afternoon.

Barry didn’t get another chance to see Len before he got on the Waverider again. When Barry came home that afternoon, he found a letter on Len’s pillow that read, _“I’m sorry, Barry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. I don’t want to explain in a letter. I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk before I left, but I can’t find you anywhere. We’ll talk next time I see you. I love you, Barry. Always.”_

Barry read that letter a hundred times. He held on to that _I love you_ like it was his light in the dark.

Barry shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have stayed away. He should have gone to the Waverider and seen Len off, given him one last chance to prove that that was really the end before he left.

He should have at least said goodbye.

Barry buries his head underneath his arms till he can’t see anything – no hint of light, no shadows, nothing in his room that reminds him of Len. He knows he’s not going to sleep tonight. He’s not sure when he’ll sleep ever again.

If he can’t find a way to rescue Len, that conversation will be the last thing he’ll have said to the man he loves.

And he’ll replay it in his head every single day until he dies.

 


	5. The Path Between Denial and Acceptance...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry is getting ready to go through with Mick's plan to save Len when he finds something in his closet that completely derails him.
> 
> (Warning for depression, drinking, and mild thoughts of suicide. The song Barry is singing is "Home" by Daughtry.)

“Well I'm going home, back to the place where I belong, and where your love has always been enough for me…” Barry stops singing long enough to throw back a shot, pauses after he swallows to register the alcohol and the _what he can only assume is rocket fuel_ surge through him, its heat a perfect counter to the cold, hard floor beneath him. He never did get the recipe for those bullet shots that Caitlin developed for him, so he just mixed up anything he found in the lab that he thought might give him a buzz … along with some cough syrup and a bottle of peppermint Schnapps. “I'm not running from … no I think you've got me all wrong … I don't regret this life I chose for me …” Another shot. God, those things taste awful. He hopes nothing in them can _actually_ kill him. He chuckles into the next verse with that thought dangling like an unspoken punchline in his head. “But these places and these faces are getting old … so I'm going home …” He sings it loud enough to hear it bounce off the stone walls and ring back at him. He gives the echo a second to die down, and he waits to see if anything will happen, what kind of consequences he can look forward to for breaking the rules.

Technically what he’s doing isn’t against any written S.T.A.R. Labs rules, but Caitlin would be very grumpy if she knew that Barry is drinking in the pipeline.

And besides, there’s no one there to catch him anyway.

“Fuck it,” he murmurs, grabbing another shot when he feels the fifth one wear off. He’s got about two dozen more lined up on the floor beside him, within reach. If he’s going to wallow in self-pity and drink himself stupid, he doesn’t really want to expend any energy.

He drinks another shot. Without his mournful wailing, all he hears in the tunnel he’s holed up in is the sound of his own breathing, his pathetic heart racing, and the clinking of the glasses after he sets them down. Jesus Christ, it’s quiet down here. How have none of the meta-humans they have locked up one level above him gone bonkers with all of this quiet? He thinks that Cisco pipes in music, or the audio from old television programs or something inside their cells, but still … how can they stand to be so alone down here where nothing happens, the world stopped, and their lives pretty much at a complete standstill?

Like he feels right now – locked up, trapped, stuck in time with no way to move forward, not without Len. They’d made plans together. Inconceivable plans, considering, but nonetheless, they gave Barry hope. A lot of people would assume that being a superhero would give Barry hope enough, but it didn’t. It just added to his sorrow, drove deep the nails embedded in his incomprehensible pain. It lifted him up when he did it well, but broke him down, nearly beyond repair, whenever he made a mistake. But Len gave him hope. Every day, he gave Barry hope. Watching Len change, seeing the good in him, knowing that he possessed a capacity for love that didn’t get overwhelmed by a past that fought him at every turn to keep him down gave Barry hope that he himself could do better. Not as a superhero. That he could be a better man. That’s part of the reason why Barry needs to save Len. Len is Barry’s hope. He’s Barry’s heart and Barry’s soul.

Without Len, Barry is in danger of becoming the new Captain Cold.

Even as Barry reaches for another shot, he knows he has to keep a clear head for what’s coming ahead. And he was. He was at home getting prepared, double checking Cisco’s blueprints and gathering last minute supplies, when he came across something in his bedroom closet that made him stop and rewind.

One of Len’s parkas, stuffed in the far back corner, presumably in hiding since Barry had a tendency of stealing Len’s clothes (though, to be fair, that door swung both ways). Len only has the two, and Barry had thought that Len had taken them both with him, but there it was, hanging half-on/half-off a too small hanger. There it was, suspended in time, waiting for Len, the way Barry felt he was doing.

Barry reached for it, hands trembling. He felt almost afraid to touch it, as if it were a ghost, there to tell him how completely Len was gone, how much Barry had failed him, how he was never coming back. Barry pulled the coat off its hanger and sat down with it on the edge of his bed. He looked it over – the zippers, the buttons, the stitching on the seams, the pockets. He hugged it in his arms, feeling the heft of it, the overall bulk. God but the thing was humongous. Had it always been? Len fit so comfortably in Barry’s arms. How could Len’s parka be so unwieldy? Barry slipped it on. It felt like Len, every piece of it, from the fur around the hood tickling Barry’s cheek, to the cuffs of the sleeves sliding down Barry’s wrists to his hands, to the thickness of the fiberfill. Plus, it smelled like Len – his soap, his sweat, his aftershave. This jacket, which held so many memories of Len, so much physical evidence of the man’s existence, and which should have given Barry comfort, paralyzed him. It was another step in making Len’s death real. It forced Barry to face the truth one more time. He abandoned everything he was doing (he couldn’t remember what he was in the middle of anyway) and climbed back under his covers. Then he broke, crying so hard, he gave himself a headache.

A headache that pounds behind his temples with the help of two more shots.

Barry didn’t want to leave his bed once he got in it. He didn’t want to do anything. He wanted to just give up; do what was easy and not what was right for a change. He’s not entirely sure how or when he made it to S.T.A.R. Labs, but there he was, lying on the floor, drinking himself to death.

He feels so done in; not just _depressed_ , but _defeated_. He doesn’t care about anything. He doesn’t care when he eats again, when he sleeps again. He doesn’t have the energy to shower. He doesn’t even have the will to breathe. There’s a hole inside him that keeps growing too quick for him to fill. The Speed Force he has, the secret to his power, has hobbled him here by helping that hole grow at a phenomenal pace instead of helping it to heal. It’s going to swallow him up, devour him, and leave nothing behind.

Even Mick Rory’s plan isn’t enough to get him on his feet.

When Mick first showed up in Barry’s apartment, his optimism that there was a surefire way to save Len had been infectious, especially since, after the blow of finding out that Len was gone, Barry _had_ to believe that he could be brought back. But Mick’s faith in Barry was even more infectious. All through the planning stages of this rescue effort, Mick talked like it was a done deal. The only thing left was for Barry to go and do it. And Barry let that carry him along, let him see the bright light on the horizon that Mick was so certain was there. But somewhere along the line, Barry began to lose sight of that light. He started to see the holes in their plan, all the ways it wouldn’t work, the ways he could fail. He let doubt overshadow the sliver of hope that resided in his heart until it was almost snuffed out.

Because Len was Barry’s hope, and Len was gone.

And Barry may be a superhero, but inside, he was still only Barry.

How was he going to rescue Len if he had no hope left that this plan would actually succeed?

“The miles are getting longer it seems, the closer I get to you …”

He rolls his head back and forth on the unforgiving ground, back and forth until the ceiling stretched above him swirls like a dark, endless void.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he mutters to the black, spiraling like a hypnotic eye above him, “'cause you just might get it all … you just might get it all … and then some you don't want…”

How did he intend on being reunited with his boyfriend when the only way he could see to be with him again was just to lay right here and die?

“Be careful what you wish for, 'cause you just might get it all … you just might get it all …”

He doesn’t have an answer for that question, so he reaches for another shot, and decides to try his luck.

 


	6. Like a Slap in the Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we see Barry, still down in the pipeline, drinking himself to death, when an unlikely person comes along to snap him out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for depression and thoughts of self-harm. We get some Mick Rory backstory in this installment. Also, it looks like Barry might be going to save Len soon :)

“ _All by myself_ _… Don't want to be, all by my---_ _Hey_!” Barry squeals mid-lyric when a bucket of ice water hits him square in the face. “Watch it! This is a private pity party! No guests allowed!” Without moving from his spot on the ground, he vibrates the water off his skin and clothes, spraying the man standing over him.

Armed with an empty bucket, Mick Rory stares down at a sputtering and coughing Barry Allen in disgust.

“I’ve been lookin’ all over for you,” Mick says. “What the hell are you doin’ down here, Red?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Barry doesn’t stand up to talk to him. He doesn’t have the energy or the motivation. He had decided about an hour ago that this was where he was staying. It’s nice here, quiet. He likes the cool comfort of the pipeline. He likes what it represents – safety, isolation. It’s an oubliette. He could stay down here and, over time, if no one found him, he would be forgotten – even by himself. Except Mick found him, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to leave any time soon … the bastard. Barry turns his head and hacks to clear the last of the water from his throat so he can speak. Maybe if he explains, Mick will realize that this is best and simply leave him alone underground to rot. “I’m feeling sorry for myself.”

“You’re drunk,” Mick announces, disappointment thick in his gruff voice.

“But I won’t be in about seven seconds,” Barry says with a bone dry chuckle. “Which reminds me. I need to re-fuel.”

Barry reaches for one of his shot glasses. When he’d finished the first round, even though he didn’t want to move, he went upstairs for a refill. These were the last of the toxic jet fuel shooters he’d concocted. _These_ he knew had to be poisonous, unlike the others, which he’d only suspected. These burned his throat like a bitch, and not in that good, brash alcohol sort of way. They made his head throb like the blood was being forcibly drained, and his heart lurch into his stomach between beats. But they also made his thoughts evaporate for about a minute or two, leaving behind a complete void, as if they had been sliced out of his brain. So regardless of what’s in them, or of what long term damage they could do, he continues to pound them back.

Because he wants the void.

Barry lazily extends a hand to the side in search of the closest shot, but Mick steps forward and kicks it away. He kicks the next one, and the next one, and the next one, until a puddle of thin, volatile liquid covers the floor, creeping towards Barry’s body.

Barry watches it encroach, and clicks his tongue. “Now what did you go and do that for?” he slurs. He slowly sits up, intent on racing upstairs to make more.

Mick grabs Barry’s arm as he starts to stand, pulling him to his feet. “Come on. We’ve got work to do. We don’t have time for this.”

“Are you kidding?” Barry giggles like an idiot. The village idiot. He has been since day one without him even knowing it. But … but … the lightning chose him, isn’t that what Oliver had said? Chose him for a reason? Right. And Barry was dumb enough to believe it. It had become his mantra, the definition of his purpose. It’s what he held on to when the going got tough. Being struck by lightning wasn’t just an accident. There was a _reason_. He was _supposed_ to become The Flash. Being a super hero is hard, there’s no denying that, but he thought there had to be a trade-off. It couldn’t be all sacrifice, all give and no take, all punishment and no reward. If he was a good person and did good things, he deserved to be happy. Isn’t that how it worked? Just like, if he and Len loved each other and worked hard to be together, they could make it work, because they deserved to be together. Except, it hadn’t exactly happened that way, had it? Turned out, their relationship wasn’t simply some TV trope where the good guy reforms the bad guy and they live happily ever after. No. Said bad guy was a good guy all along –a sheep in wolf’s clothing. In the end, _he_ made the noble sacrifice, the one he was always afraid would be _Barry’s_ undoing. Barry was an imbecile of magnanimous proportions to believe that things would turn out any different. “ _All_ we have is _time_. Len is dead, remember?”

“Yeah. I remember,” Mick says soberly, still holding the empty bucket in his hands, debating between crushing it and using it to smack some sense into the kid in front of him.

“So, what’s the use in rushing? We can put off failure for another day, can’t we?” Barry laughs. Mick’s lack of laughter, his intense stare to the contrary, unnerves, even annoys Barry. “I mean, do you _really_ think this is going to work?” Barry asks, putting every inch of condescension he has in his body into that question. And he has a lot of it. He absorbed it every time someone told him that he couldn’t have seen what he did the night his mother died. That he had to be mistaken. That there was some other explanation.

Every time that explanation was automatic – his father did it, without a doubt, without question, and Barry was too young, too traumatized to understand.

But Barry understands this - it doesn’t matter that he’s _the impossible_. No matter what, when it comes to the people he loves, he’s doomed to fail.

“Yes,” Mick replies. “I do.”

It’s a simple, straightforward answer, unwavering in its belief, and it sobers Barry up a hair. But then the truth comes back at him, a knowledge garnered by similar attempts to save people in the past, and he laughs again.

“No, no, no, you _want_ it to work. That’s not the same thing as believing it.”

Mick puts the bucket down. If he doesn’t, he might just choose door number 2. To further that end, he crosses his arms over his chest and locks his hands underneath them. “Okay. Maybe I have my doubts,” he admits. “But this is important. There’s not just you and me riding on this. Lisa, she’s … she’s a mess. She’s not doin’ good at all, and I’m getting scared for her. I don’t know what she’s going to do.”

“She has Cisco,” Barry remembers bitterly. “She’ll be fine … eventually.”

“What do we have to lose? Why not take the chance?”

Without knowing it, Mick has hit the crux of Barry’s problem, what drove him down here to begin with, stuck between hoping to succeed in a 70 to 30 against endeavor, and wanting to disappear. Failing at this isn’t just a matter of not doing what he’s supposed to do. It’s possibly witnessing the one thing that could be the end of Barry whether he survives the trip or not.

And since luck isn’t entirely on his side in this, he’ll survive.

“Because I could overshoot the target,” Barry says softly, hands moving on their own to wrap around his chest, grab his arms and hold him steady. “Get there right when it happens. I could watch him die. I can’t do that. I can’t. I watched my mom die, my dad die, one of my best friends die. I don’t have the strength …”

Mick looks at his filthy, scuffed up boots, nodding comprehension. “When I was a kid, my house burned down … with my family inside.”

Barry stares at Mick, speechless, but not necessarily surprised.

Mick is not an altogether perceptive man, but he can see Barry’s next question in his eyes, and continues before he can ask.

“ _I_ set the fire. I’ll admit it. It was an accident …” It had taken Mick a while to admit that to himself. Talking to the younger version of himself helped, but it was a while before he could truly believe it. “I didn’t intend on it burning down the house, but it did. You see, I had an obsession with fire, with its power, what it could do. I thought I had a handle on it, but I became distracted watching it, watching the flames dance, watching it consume. It grew too big too fast. I couldn’t control it. And when I realized what I had done, I ran. I saved myself, without waking my family.”

“Mick,” Barry starts, though he really has no clue what he should say. As horrible as this confession is, in Mick’s case, it’s not an aberration. It’s what Mick does. He hurts people. It’s only been recently when that’s seemed to change. Maybe it’s the scared boy inside him making amends for running, or the adult who took a long time to know better. But how does Barry console a man as unapologetically destructive (most of the time) as Mick Rory? “Mick, I’m …”

“I didn’t see Snart die,” Mick interrupts. He doesn’t want to let Barry finish. Knowing Red, he’ll apologize, and all of the apologies in the world can’t change what happened, won’t absolve Mick of what he did. It had crossed Mick’s mind that maybe Barry could fix it, but would saving Mick’s parents change anything? His dad was kind of a bastard, and his mom, she went along with everything he said, good or bad. Mick didn’t intend on killing them when he set that fire, but he’s not entirely heartbroken about them being gone. “But I saw the explosion. It was the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed. I heard it, felt the aftershocks hit the Waverider. I thought that it would take us with it. I think, in a way, I kind of hoped it would.”

It hits Barry that that’s what he felt that day he came home to find Mick and Lisa in his apartment. That explosion took place years away from him, but he felt it in his chest, like his own heart rupturing. A tear comes to Barry’s eye picturing it, remembering the dull agony of it, the screaming headache he had that brought him to his knees, the searing heat that curled him into a ball.

Was that what Len felt in the split second before his life came to an end? Pain? Burning agony?  

Barry doesn’t want to know. He can’t face it, not in real life. He can’t be there watching when it happens.

But Mick is also correct in that this doesn’t just affect him, or Barry. There’s Lisa to consider, too. Her brother has been there for her whole life. He’s raised her, supported her. They have a unique and undeniable connection. Even as an adult, she’s lost without him.

If he has to try for someone, it has to be her.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” Barry says. “There’s … there’s too much riding on it.”

“So, what’s your plan then? Just stay down here the rest of your life? Drink yourself into oblivion?”

“I was beginning to think it was a good idea.”

“And what about everyone who relies on you, huh? Everyone who needs you to be The Flash?”

Barry shrugs, amused by the irony that a criminal to Mick’s extreme is asking him to think about all of the innocent people who rely on him to protect them from people like Mick.

“Do _you_ want to do it?” Barry asks.

Mick tilts his head, pulls a face. “It’s tempting. I mean, I do look good in red. But I don’t think I’d fill out the costume the same way you do. Besides, I don’t think I’d make much of a hero. Not like you and Snart.”

“Len thought you would.”

Mick huffs. “What makes you say that?”

“Because he told me once that you’re the best man he’s ever known.”

Mick smiles, self-depreciating, unbelieving, and what _could_ pass for humble in the world of Mick Rory. “I wish I could believe you.”

Barry brushes off his pants, turns up his sleeves, rolls his neck on his shoulders till they both hear a crack. “Well, why don’t I go get him, and you can ask him for yourself?”

“It’s a deal,” Mick says. He puts out a hand. Barry takes it. Mick shakes his hand once. Barry sighs. A wall of stench, of sour chemicals and what’s probably the ghost of a late night cheese pizza, hits Mick, and he turns his face to the side. “But, you know, kid?”

“Yeah?”

“You might wanna clean up first.”


End file.
